


Coffee

by Spiltlava



Category: Saints Row, Saints Row IV - Fandom
Genre: Boss is Asian Albino, Gen, M/M, Takes place in the same universe as "To Hell With Boats", Was written as preslash but can be seen as Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiltlava/pseuds/Spiltlava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine person A dying suddenly and Person B continuing to make them a cup of coffee every morning, even though they know it will go cold.</p><p>——</p><p>Puppet, how you feelin'? B)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee

When Johnny died, it hit Boss the hardest.  
Which was expected, because Boss knew him the longest.  
He tore down Steelport in his grief, pretty much.  
The city saw fire set to its buildings, septic tanks roaming the streets and spraying sewage,  
Billboards blown up and destroyed, bases desecrated.  
People murdered, regardless of who they were, what they were doing.  
He didn’t feel remorse. (He never really did from the beginning, either.)

 

But the down time is what got him.  
In the early mornings, before anyone else was awake, he would brew some coffee.  
Each day, it was a new blend. Not one was used twice before the month was up.  
Depending on how many Boss found, it would stretch on to two.

He’d wait at the counter, with two small mugs, as the dark liquid was made.  
The smell filled the air, and he heard annoying birds singing outside.  
Maybe today he’d eradicate birds. Every single one.  
One hip was lean against the cupboards under the counter,  
Legs that were covered not by shoes, but by stockings instead.   
Something he brought from Stilwater. Steelport was _shit_ when it came to this.  
Six out of ten days, he’d be idly smoking while he waited.  
And when the coffeemaker beeped at him, it’d startle him from his thoughts,  
He’d stub out the cig and push the ashtray away.

 

The grey and purple mug would be filled first.  
No sugar, only milk for cream, and stirred for twenty-four seconds.  
This cup would be set to the side while he tended to the black and purple mug.  
Two sugars, pumpkin spice creamer, stir for twelve seconds.

 

He’d grab the black and purple mug, bring it to his mouth and take one drink.  
—“ _Come outside when you’re ready._ ”  
It’s spoken to the air, and he still expects a reply when there isn’t one.  
Boss moves out to the penthouse’s pool, and sits near the water.  
Any second now, Johnny would drowsily join him.  
They’ll watch the sunrise and discuss plans for the day, little fingers intertwined in their way of affection.  
Who to murder, who to scare, what renovations they could do this time for the Saints HQ.

They’d sit there until either Johnny got bored, Saints would start waking up, or Boss got antsy.  
Then, it’d be time to start the day. Coffee would be immediately finished, and the two would head out.

 

But that doesn’t happen here.  
Gat doesn’t join him outside. The coffee remains on the counter.  
It would grow cold while Boss slowly drank his own, speaking in low tones.  
 _—What should we do today?_   
He’d ask, and despite the lack of answer, he’d continue.  
 _—I knew you’d fuckin’ say that. Let’s do it._

The grey and purple mug would sit there until Pierce would wake.  
Sometimes it was Shaundi who saw it first.   
Either one of them would silently pour the long-cold coffee down the drain.  
They’d wash the cup, and put it away.   
The cycle would repeat tomorrow morning.

 

— _One of these days,_  
Boss thinks it quietly the next morning, as he’s filling the grey and purple coffee.  
No sugar, only milk as cream. Stir for twenty-four seconds.  
— _You’ll pick up this god damn coffee again, and join me outside._

Today wasn’t that day. Tomorrow won’t be that day.  
Neither will the day after that. Or the day after that.

 

Because Johnny Gat was dead.  
Boss wasn’t able to come to terms with it, yet.  
Maybe he’d never.

 


End file.
